


One Taste of the Apple

by brynnmck



Category: Battlestar Galactica (2003)
Genre: Academy hijinx, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2005-11-14
Updated: 2005-11-14
Packaged: 2017-12-14 06:36:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,222
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/833855
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/brynnmck/pseuds/brynnmck
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><i>"You need a change of scenery," she declared, inspiration striking.  "Get out of town, get drunk and do unspeakable things with a girl you'll never see again."</i>  Even more wacky Academy hijinx.</p>
            </blockquote>





	One Taste of the Apple

**Author's Note:**

> For [](http://dualbunny.livejournal.com/profile)[**dualbunny**](http://dualbunny.livejournal.com/) , with love. Thanks to [](http://stars-like-dust.livejournal.com/profile)[](http://stars-like-dust.livejournal.com/)**stars_like_dust** for pinch-hit beta duties.

_Four and twenty blackbirds, crowing on a wire_   
_Four and twenty years that I been caught up in desire_   
_But it don’t look too good, mama_   
_Don’t look too good for me_   
_I got one taste of the apple_   
_And I wanted the whole damned tree_

_\-- Jeffrey Foucault, “4 & 20 Blues"_

 

 

Kara unzipped her flight suit and ran a hand through her sweat-damp hair, still coming down from the adrenaline high.

“Three hundred fifty points on the Hades Run,” Helo crowed, shaking his head in disbelief. “You do realize—”

“That’s an Academy record,” she finished smugly. “Yeah, I think someone mentioned that.” She looked over at Lee, sprawled in exhaustion on the bench in front of his locker, grinned at him through the steam from the showers.

“Two hundred of those points were mine!” he shouted, grinning back, and rolled sideways when she threw a towel at him.

She was about to retort, but Helo nudged her and whistled low, jerked his head toward the tall, dark-haired woman who had just stalked into the room. Raven was a Viper pilot, a year ahead of them, and she and Lee had been hot and heavy for a few months now; Kara couldn’t help glancing away from Lee’s welcoming smile.

“Hey,” she heard him say, warmly. She couldn’t hear Raven’s response, but when she dared a glance over, the other woman seemed to be hissing something in Lee’s ear, and he looked like someone had just smacked him on the back of the head with one of his big-ass books. Raven finished saying whatever she had to say, turned on her heel and crossed directly to Kara.

“He’s all yours,” she said, voice clipped and dark eyes furious, and even the steam got out of her way as she strode out the door without a backward glance.

Kara just looked at Helo, eyes wide, as Lee called, “Lyssa, wait!” and rushed, half-dressed, out into the corridor after her.

 

 

*****

 

Spring break started five days later, but Lee could hardly seem to leave his room, much less the campus, so he cancelled his usual trip home despite his mother’s disappointment. Kara had been considering a trip to Aerilon with some of the rest of their squadron, but one look at Lee’s face in the mess the morning after their record-setting run had convinced her to stick around, too.

She was sure that men had been dumped for stupider reasons than flying extremely well with women who weren’t their girlfriends, but she was having trouble thinking of any.

“She’s not worth it,” she told Lee as he slouched across from her in the deserted mess on the second morning, pretending to read a book on Mark V design and engineering. She liked Raven, and they’d been casual friends before Raven and Lee had hooked up, but Kara had yet to meet a woman she deemed worthy of Lee.

He just stared sightlessly at his book and didn’t respond. Selfishly, she’d actually been looking forward to spending some time with him over the break—after all, time spent frakking Raven had meant less time hanging out with Kara, these past few months, and she’d definitely felt the loss—but so far, it had pretty much been like spending time with a brick. A solemn, brooding, relentlessly depressed brick.

She shook her head, annoyed and ashamed on his behalf. “This is beneath you, Lee.” Then, reconsidering, “Or, technically, _not_ beneath you, I guess—”

“Kara.” He glared at her. That was a response, at least. “Not helping.”

She couldn’t help a grin. “Sorry.” But she didn’t manage to get much apology into it, and he rolled his eyes, started to get up. She grabbed his arm before he could get away. “OK, OK, I’m sorry. Really. No more jokes.” He raised a disbelieving eyebrow, but slumped back into his seat anyway, and she gave him a backhanded slap on the shoulder from across the table. “Moping like this is pathetic. You are Lee ‘Apollo’ Adama, kick-ass rocket jockey! Second-best pilot in our class!”

“According to _you_ ,” he interjected, but she ignored him.

“You need a change of scenery,” she declared, inspiration striking. “Get out of town, get drunk and do unspeakable things with a girl you’ll never see again.”

“Not everyone deals with relationships the way you do, Starbuck,” he sighed, scrubbing a hand across his face. “So thanks, but—”

“I’m picking you up in an hour,” she told him, holding up a hand to fend off his automatic protest. “No arguments, Adama, or I’m short-sheeting the LSO’s bunk and I’m telling him you did it.”

He narrowed his eyes at her. “They’d never believe you.”

She just grinned. “I can be very persuasive. And you haven’t been yourself lately, Lee, circles under your eyes, pining away. Who knows what stunts a desperate man might engage in to take his mind off his sorrows? There are only so many cadets on campus right now.”

“Kara.” His expression remained deliberately flat and unimpressed. “That is the biggest crock of shit I have ever heard, and no way the LSO is buying it, especially from you.”

But she could see him fighting a smile, and she leaned her elbows on the table in front of her, sure of victory now, lowered her voice teasingly. “Maybe, but can you really afford to take that chance?”

He sighed, the eye-rolling, long-suffering sigh that she liked to think he saved especially for her. “This isn’t going to help, y’know.”

She winked and pushed herself to her feet. “Never underestimate the healing powers of ambrosia, my friend.” She ruffled his hair, laughed when he slapped her hand away, and now he was smiling. “One hour, Adama,” she reminded him on her way to the door. Then, as an afterthought, “And wear that white shirt you wore on your birthday—brings out your eyes.”

“Since when are you paying attention to my eyes?” he called after her, but the door was swinging shut behind her and she didn’t have to answer.

 

 

*****

 

“How’re the eyes looking?” he asked her somewhere around their fourth or fifth round, hollering to be heard over the noise of the crowded bar.

“A little blurry,” she admitted, laughing. “Looks good on you, though.” It was good to see him smiling, too, even if it was alcohol-induced; there had been more than a little truth behind her teasing that his depression over the last several days had seemed somehow unworthy of him. Getting him out of uniform hadn’t hurt, either—he looked relaxed and happy, exactly what she’d hoped for.

Though he was actually looking relaxed, happy, and slightly confused at the moment. “I’m going to try to figure out tomorrow whether or not that was a compliment.”

She waved a hand. “Mind on the mission, flyboy.” She widened the arc of her arm, gesturing to the bar at large. “This is a target-rich environment, Cadet Adama. I didn’t drag you all the way out here so you could sit at the bar all night with me.”

“But, Kara,” he answered, fixing those bright, wicked eyes on her in a way that made her shift on the barstool, “I _like_ sitting at the bar with you.” He smiled beatifically. “Especially when you’re buying.”

She snorted, glad of an excuse to laugh at him. “That’s very touching, Lee, thank you. I’m tearing up over here.”

“Here,” he said, grabbing a cocktail napkin and reaching unsteadily across the space between them, “let me—” But he slipped at the last second and only succeeded in jabbing the napkin into her eye.

“Ow! Frak!” She bent forward and covered the now-watering eye with her hand, felt his hand on her wrist, his fingers at her temple.

“Oh, frak me, Kara, I’m sorry—” he was babbling, trying to pry her hand away from her eye to see the damage, and his drunken earnestness was enough to start her chuckling as her vision gradually cleared. She smacked his hands away, still blinking.

“I’m fine, you moron—get away from me before you poke out the other one.”

“Let me see,” he insisted, reaching for her again.

“Did you want to kick me in the left knee while you’re at it?” But he could be ridiculously determined when drunk, so she sat she sat still, wary, while he placed his hands with deliberate precision on either side of her face, peered into her eye. His fingers, chilled from his last shot, were cool on her flushed face; she smelled shaving cream and the bite of ambrosia. Her breath caught in her throat. “What’s the prognosis, doc?” she managed, swallowing hard, keeping her voice steady by virtue of long practice.

He pulled back, looked at her with a painstakingly serious expression. “I have no frakking idea,” he answered soberly, then dissolved into laughter, and it wasn't that funny but he dragged her down with him anyway, the tension draining mercifully out of her.

"All right," she said finally when she caught her breath, plucking the shot glass he was toying with out of his hand. "No more stalling. Pick your target before you get too drunk to do anything about it." Not to mention that she was feeling the need for some space about now—his knee was pressed against hers and the sensation of his touch on her face was annoyingly slow to fade.

Lee was unaware, making a face at her choice of words. "You make it sound so… _mercenary_."

She shrugged. "Well, if you do it right—and rumor has it that you do—" and she'd never know how he managed to blush and look smug at the same time, "it shouldn't exactly be unpleasant for her, either."

"Rumor has it, huh? What, did you take a poll?" But he wasn't really paying attention, scanning the crowd now despite his protests.

"Yes, Lee. I spend all my spare time digging up the gory details of your sex life." Actually, she wondered if Raven had made a point of discussing the finer points of Lee's prowess and techniques when Kara was within earshot, but she guessed it didn't matter now.

"Well, there are enough people who think you know from personal experience anyway…" He trailed off; then, speculatively, "Huh."

"Find one?" She followed the line of his gaze to a woman standing toward the corner, nursing a cocktail. Long, dark hair, confident posture, big eyes and a sweet smile—yep, definitely Lee's type. "Lords. You are so predictable."

"Oh," he scoffed, turning back to her, "and you're all shrouded in mystery when it comes to guys?" He leaned toward her, challenging. "I'll bet you the next round that out of every guy in this room, I can pick the one you'd go home with."

 _Would, or would_ want _to_? whispered a tiny, rebellious corner of her mind, and what the hell was wrong with her tonight? "OK—go for it," she answered quickly, more to distract herself than anything else. "Dazzle me with your amazing powers of deduction."

He didn't even glance around. "There," he said triumphantly, pointing down the bar. Kara looked, saw a good-looking guy enjoying the attentions of no less than three good-looking women, laughing and gesturing widely as he related some bullshit story. Enough challenge to make it interesting, enough contempt to ensure an easy morning after. _Frak_.

And Lee saw it in her face. "Lords, you are so predictable," he mocked, smirking, and she was tempted to hit him, but when Lee drank it was always a toss-up whether he'd end up starting a brawl or buying drinks for half the bar, and she didn't want to push him in either direction at the moment.

"Your girl's looking lonely over there," she told him instead, and he was still laughing at her, but slid off the barstool anyway, straightening his shirt. "And no boring philosophical crap this time, OK? Just tell her she's pretty."

"That was _one time_ ," he protested, then jerked his head in the direction of the bartender. "Get me a double, since you're buying."

She stuck her tongue out at him. "I was buying anyway, jackass."

"Yeah," he shot back, grinning, "but now you're buying 'cause you _lost_." He gave her a patronizing pat on the shoulder, and before she could reconsider her earlier decision and smack him, he ducked out of her range, headed toward the dark-haired girl.

"I'm ordering you something pink! With an umbrella!" she shouted after him, and he flipped her off over his shoulder before he disappeared into the crowd.

 

 

*****

 

Half an hour later, Kara was sipping a drink and leveling what she knew was a killer smile at Mr. Easy-Morning-After, who had made his way over to her within minutes of Lee’s departure. _Didn’t even have to move_ , she thought smugly, and if she was going to be predictable in this, it was comforting that she was at least predictable and _good_. She shifted her shoulders a bit, making sure that her V-neck top showed just the slightest bit more of both V and neck, watched her companion’s eyes widen appreciatively.

Of course, it turned out that Mr. Easy-Morning-After was also Mr. Loves-the-Sound-of-His-Own-Voice, so she was taking the opportunity to work out the finer points of a tactical maneuver she'd been developing in her head when she felt an arm settle across her shoulders.

"Hey, honey," Lee said breezily, giving her a friendly squeeze. She looked up at him in disbelief, but he just smiled innocently at her and stuck out his hand to the man sitting next to her. "Lee Adama—glad to meet you."

"Ah," was the best the man could come up with as Lee pumped his hand with manly enthusiasm, and the priceless, bewildered look on his face as he glanced from Kara to Lee and back again was enough for Kara to decide to play along. _At least it's not predictable_ , she thought as she gave Lee her best fake smile.

"Hey, sweet cheeks," she greeted him, matching his tone, saw his eyes widen and then narrow again ever so slightly. She bit her lip to hold back a laugh. "Welcome back. Ah—" and _shit_ , she was totally blanking on the name, but then she had it, "David here was just keeping me company while you were gone."

"Well." Lee grinned even wider. "I appreciate that, David." He leaned forward conspiratorially. "Can't take your eyes off her for a minute, you know?"

"Uh," David replied, and it was a good thing he was still stunned and blinking because Lee dropped a casual kiss on the top of Kara's head and she automatically elbowed him in the stomach, and a more observant man wouldn't have missed that little exchange. Lee clapped him on the shoulder.

"I'll take it from here, man. Thanks."

And now the confusion was starting to tip over into embarrassment and anger, and Kara could feel the gradual, wary tension in Lee's arm around her shoulders. "We should let you get back to your friends," she told the other man quickly, nodding in the direction of his former companions, who were still clustered, pouting, at the other end of the bar. He glanced back at them, looked once more at Lee and Kara, then slid off the stool and walked away, shaking his head in disgust.

"Thanks for the drink!" Kara called after him gleefully—if not especially loudly—and shrugged Lee's arm off her shoulders as her friend collapsed into laugher.

"And what the frak was that all about?" she demanded, unable to hold back a smile of her own. "What about the girl?"

"I tried!" Lee protested, holding his hands up in front of him defensively. "I used your brilliant pick-up line and everything. But she saw me with you, and wouldn't believe you weren't my girlfriend, and she had this whole speech about a bad breakup and she didn't want to get involved in something complicated again, and frankly, I'm surprised I got out of there unharmed."

Kara snickered at the mental image. "Nice."

"So I figured that since you'd ruined my chances, I might as well ruin yours," he finished with a cheerful shrug. "Besides, you owe me a drink."

She shook her head at him, signaled the bartender. "Well, sorry to cramp your style, there, Eros."

He laughed. "Yeah, it's been too long since we've done this—I forgot that, while you may be a hell of a wingman in the air, in this situation, you pretty much suck." Then, reflectively, "Maybe I need to start going out with Helo more often."

"Aww," Kara replied, syrupy sweet, "I've always hoped you two crazy kids would work it out."

Lee rolled his eyes at her. "Yeah, he's just so _dreamy_ ," and she couldn't help cracking up at his elaborately star-struck tone.

He just watched her laugh, grinned back as he downed his drink in one gulp. "It has been too long since we've done this," he said finally when they'd both caught their breath, his eyes fixed on hers.

It caught her completely off-guard, and her stomach dropped, sharp and sudden, like takeoff. She took a hasty sip of her own drink. "Yeah."

He shook his head, made a noise halfway between exasperation and amusement. "Oh, relax, Kara. I'm not going to propose or anything," and she was supposed to be the one with no respect for rules, but that comment was in direct violation of the Unwritten Articles of Kara and Lee, which very clearly stated that any momentary implication of potential romantic entanglement was to be strictly ignored. She blinked, unable to come up with an appropriate response, which he seemed to find hysterical.

"Come on." He slammed his glass down on the bar. "Let's dance."

"Lee—"

"What if I told you you're pretty?"

Her heart stuttered, but his smile was wide and affectionate and more than a little drunk; he clearly had no idea what he was saying. So she figured it was safe to grin back, relief overwhelming the slight twinge of disappointment. "I'd tell you that you need to do better than that to get me to get anywhere near you on a dance floor. I've seen you dance, Apollo."

His jaw dropped in mock offense. "Not for a while. Maybe I've been improving."

"Uh-huh."

"OK, let me put it this way," he offered, leaning one elbow on the bar. "We have two choices here: we can go out there and try to dance off some of the questionable alcohol you've been so generously buying for me all night, or we can keep standing here and in about half an hour, I can puke on your shoes."

"Wow. _Charming_ ," she snorted, but she let him grab her arm and pull her out to the crowded floor.

As it turned out, Lee had improved; she was stunned at the change, when the last time she’d seen him on a dance floor she’d mocked him for days about his awkwardness and total lack of rhythm. _Must’ve learned from Raven_ , she mused, trying not to think about his hand, hot on her lower back.

“Hey!” Lee objected, his mouth much closer to her ear than it seemed like it should be. She leaned back to raise an eyebrow at him.

“Problem?”

“You gonna iron that for me when we get back?” And she realized her hand was fisted in the fabric of his shirt at the shoulder, gripping tight.

“Just making sure you don’t keel over,” she tried, falling just short of casual. Lee smirked.

“I appreciate that.”

She tensed for evasive maneuvers, but that was the end of it, and several dances and several drinks later (well, the drinks were mostly Lee’s—someone had to make sure they made their way out of there eventually), she told herself that she was imagining it, that he didn’t realize what he was doing to her. She tried to ignore it, and mostly she succeeded, but she’d be laughing at one of his stupid jokes or stories shouted over the noise of the music and he’d touch her, just a brief brush of his fingertips against her arm or the warmth of his breath on the crook of her neck, and her brain would go into a tailspin.

“It’s not too late,” she told him finally, leaning close to be heard, trying not to gasp as his hands slid casually over her hips and away again. “I can clear out for awhile, let you find another girl who isn’t so picky about guys who already have girlfriends.”

Lee’s eyes widened, mischievous. “Starbuck. Are you suggesting I lower my standards?”

She shrugged. “I’m suggesting that you get laid, which is, if you recall, the entire point of this outing.”

“The point of this outing,” he retorted, laughing, “is for me to have fun. Right?”

“Well, yeah, but—”

“Then the many not-picky women of Delos are just going to have to wait until next time,” he answered. She started to protest, but then he added, “Besides, I’m saving myself for Helo,” and she’d missed him, she had really _missed_ him, so she gave up, let herself laugh and move with him and told herself it was going to be all right.

 

 

*****

 

"A million hours in the frakking gym and you can't make it up one flight of stairs?" Kara gasped, staggering under Lee's weight as she dragged him toward her room at the Dionysian Motel.

"Those stairs were _steep_ , Kara," he told her earnestly. "Those were, like, _magic_ stairs… _Sisyphus_ stairs…"

"Oh, yeah. The stairs are too hard, but you can still come up with 'Sisyphus.' You are such a freak, Adama," she muttered, propping him next to the door while she fumbled for her key.

He just smiled serenely, flushed and tousled. "That's why you love me."

"Yes," she managed, half-falling into the room with him, "I'm really loving you right now."

The arm around her shoulders tightened, half hug and half headlock. "I love _you_ , Kara."

An hour ago, with his eyes bright in the dim light of the bar and her body achingly close to his as the music pounded around them, that would've hamstrung her. Supporting his hopelessly drunk ass for several blocks, though, had pretty much killed the mood, so she just groaned, "Oh, Lords," and dumped him unceremoniously onto the bed.

“Whoa.” He threw his arms out in a vain attempt to steady himself as he bounced from the impact. “We’ve lost control, sir. Request permission to—hey!” he said suddenly, as she flicked on the bedside light. “This isn’t my room.”

“Well, there are those keen analytical powers I’m always hearing so much about.”

He just squinted up at her, apparently immune to sarcasm at the moment. “This isn’t your room, either.”

“Well, technically it is, for the night anyway.” Seeing his boneless sprawl on the bed and realizing he was likely to pass out right there if she didn’t do something about it, she sighed and bent to pull off one of his shoes.

“Then where’s my room?”

“Your room,” she replied, yanking off the other shoe, “is the room of whatever girl you’re supposed to be frakking right now.” She watched his brow furrow as he tried to puzzle that one out, then sighed again, suddenly gaining a whole new perspective on all the nights he’d poured her into bed. “You’re staying here, OK?”

“OK,” he answered happily, then caught her hands as she rested one knee on the bed next to him and started in on the buttons of his shirt. “Hey.” He gave her a look of mock affront. “If you think you can just get me drunk and then—”

“Finish that sentence and you’ll be having your teeth for breakfast,” she cut him off sharply, but she could feel a smile tugging at the corners of her mouth. She kept unbuttoning.

“Well, you can at least tell me I’m pretty,” he pouted.

She snorted out a laugh before she could help it. “You’re very pretty, Lee. Everyone says so.”

He stuck his tongue out at her, then gave her another open, heart-stopping smile. “You aren’t, though.”

 _Oh_. Kill-shot, and she’d never even seen it coming. She stopped moving, closed her eyes for a second, every inch of her gone abruptly icy cold except for an unbearable heat somewhere in her chest. Then she opened her eyes, forced her fingers to wrap around the buttons again. “Thanks,” she forced out.

“No,” he protested, shaking his head, “I mean… flowers are pretty. Watercolors are pretty. You… you’re…” He waved a hand vaguely. “ _Artemis_ ,” he finished, pleased with himself and grinning up at her, and she went from numb to scorching in half a breath.

“Right, aside from that whole virgin thing,” she managed after a second, trying to play it off, but he wasn’t listening.

“Except when you fly.” His eyes were focused beyond her now, up past her head, but he was still wearing that goofy grin. “Then you’re _Starbuck_ ,” and he’d said “Artemis” in a tone of vast, affectionate respect, but he hadn’t said it like _that_ , and she couldn’t help it; she ducked her head, her teeth biting into her bottom lip, squeezed her burning eyes shut.

She didn’t know how long she stayed that way before she heard Lee’s voice again, soft and slurred.

“Kara.” She looked up at him, blinking rapidly; his head was lolling to the side, his eyes drifting closed. “Lessgo t’sleep, ‘K?”

“Yeah, OK,” she answered hoarsely. She took a deep breath, cleared her throat, and willed her hands into motion, easing him out of the rest of his clothes. She ignored his murmured protests—any attempt at banter would have been lost on him anyway. Finally he was down to just his standard issue boxers; she tossed his clothes over the back of a chair and let herself look for exactly thirty seconds, took in the curve of long eyelashes against his cheeks, the smooth stretch of skin over muscle, the small scar across his ribs from a particularly enthusiastic Pyramid game their first year. She counted down the seconds resolutely, and as soon as she reached zero, she rolled him gently into the blankets, watched him nuzzle into the thin pillow with a contented sigh.

Then she curled up next to him on the cheap, faded coverlet, her head resting on her folded arm, her knees just barely touching his, and watched him sleep until she couldn’t keep her own eyes open anymore.

 

 

*****

 

She woke, and immediately wondered if she was dreaming. The room was dark except for the ambient light from the streetlights and neon signs outside; she was still in the same tank and underwear she’d managed to shrug into before falling asleep. She could hear Lee breathing behind her. That was all normal.

What wasn’t normal, though, what absolutely could not be happening, was that he was so close to her she could feel the heat radiating from his body, and two—no, three—of his fingers were tracing gentle, random patterns on her back.

She closed her eyes and tried to breathe evenly, hoped he couldn’t feel her heart, suddenly pounding in her chest. She knew she should say something sarcastic, ask if she needed to hang a curtain between them to protect her modesty, laugh with him so he’d roll over and go back to sleep. But he was probably still drunk and there was a possibility that he wouldn’t remember this in the morning, and she’d spent most of the night desperate for him to touch her, and if she just stayed still and pretended to sleep she wouldn’t have to stop him.

It wouldn’t be enough, but then, she had a feeling it would never be enough.

His fingers trailed slowly down her spine, traced the hollow of her lower back, drifted up to the curve of her hip. His other hand, she realized, was above her head, toying with the ends of her hair where it was spread out on the pillow. One of her hands was fisted underneath her; she dug her fingernails into her palm to hold in a shiver. He was touching her shoulder now, following the line of her tank where it dipped along the back of her neck. She bit the inside of her cheek. Then he shifted closer, ever so slightly, and she could feel the bare skin of his chest against the skin of her shoulder, and his mouth hovered just above her neck, and she would have held it together, she really would have, except his fingers slipped beneath the bottom hem of her tank, warm against the skin of her back, and a tiny, breathy moan slipped out before she could stop it.

His fingers stopped moving, but stayed where they were, tiny starbursts on her skin. “Hey,” he said softly, and she’d been right—half asleep and half drunk, still, his voice rough and lazy.

“Hey,” she answered, trying to catch her breath. She forced herself to keep talking, figured that as long as her mouth was moving, she wouldn’t give into this dizzy desire to roll over and seal it to his. “Never pegged you for a pervert, Lee. I could have you thrown in the brig for this.”

He just chuckled, and she could feel the vibrations in his chest, the warm puff of breath on her neck. “I figured that if you wanted to stop me, you’d prefer to kick my ass yourself.”

She couldn’t help it, it was surreal and dark and she laughed silently, her body shaking against him.

“I’m sorry, Kara,” he whispered, edging closer still, his hand sliding possessively over her hip, his smiling mouth moving against her neck, “I just—I couldn’t help—”

And that was too close, she was too close to breaking, and this would be a spectacularly bad idea. “Lee. You’re drunk.”

He stopped moving again, surprised, then gave a soft, delighted laugh. “Are you saying you don’t want to take advantage of me?”

“I’m saying you’re drunk, and…” She struggled for the right words, surrounded by him, his familiar, devastating male smell. “It wouldn’t be right,” she finished finally, and it wasn’t near what she wanted to say.

He nodded slowly, let his forehead rest in the curve of her neck on a sigh. “OK.” He waited, then, “Just so I know… is there going to be a time when it is right?”

Something about his tone made her heart ache, and _yes_ was on the tip of her tongue, until a sudden vision flashed into her brain: Lee, seated at a bar years in the future, regaling some other friend with stories of how he’d dated that crazy Kara Thrace once. He was her friend, her best friend, and asking for more was tempting the gods. “Lee—” she started, just that, but even half drunk and half asleep, he must have heard it in her tone.

He sighed and rested against her for a second, the tension draining out of him. “OK,” he repeated quietly, then released her, rolled over and settled in to sleep, as far away from her as he could get.

Cold air washed over her everywhere he’d touched, and her stomach turned to lead; her heart stuttered painfully with the possibility that maybe she’d finally frakked this up for good. “Lee?” she tried, after a minute.

Silence; then, flatly, “Yeah.”

“I forgot to tell you—there’s a new sim course. Tiny says it’s supposed to be unbeatable.”

It sounded pathetic and small in her ears, but his response was automatic. “Well, we haven’t flown it yet, have we?”

She grinned, relief singing through her. _One more thing_. “It’s got a head-to-head mode, too.”

“Good.” He yawned, edging from half asleep to three-quarters. “Then I’ll look forward to kicking your ass.”

And it was so perfect it made her eyes sting, and she took a breath to steady her voice, then said, clear and quiet, “That.”

“ _That_ , what?” he replied, sounding vaguely annoyed.

“ _That’s_ why I love you.” She waited a beat, then added, “That whole random trivia thing is just bizarre.”

He chuckled, sleepy and resigned. “Shut up and go to sleep, Kara,” but he closed the space between them, pressed his back against hers.

She returned the pressure, muttered, “ _You_ shut up,” and concentrated on the steady rise and fall of his breath as they both slid into sleep.

 

 

*****

 

She woke before he did, which was rare enough to warrant some kind of celebration. Of course, she wasn’t sure that _he’d_ call it a “celebration,” exactly, seeing as it involved her getting her face as close to his as possible, then shouting, “UP ALL DAY WITH THE RISING SUN!”

He jumped a mile, lashed out with his arm in a sloppy arc that she easily ducked. _“Frak,”_ he hissed, shielding his eyes from the glare of the sun as it streamed through the curtains that she had helpfully opened for him.

“GONNA RUN ALL DAY TILL THE RUNNING’S DONE!” she continued gleefully, laughing when he buried his face in the mattress and tugged a pillow over his head.

“I hate you,” he groaned feelingly, muffled by material.

“Aww,” she pouted, all mock disappointment, “last night you said you loved me.”

“You are the spawn of Hades, and I am never going anywhere with you again.” She cackled, then had to lean on the side of the bed to support herself as he pulled his face out from under the pillow, spitting out tiny pills of dingy fabric. “Io’s udders. What the hell is this, fiberglass?”

“Sorry,” she gasped, helpless with laughter. “Triad… Triad doesn’t pay too well. Oh, gods, Lee, your face…”

He looked over at her, then winced away from the sunlight behind her. “Kara. For the love of the gods, please—”

“OK, OK,” she conceded, taking pity on him, crossed to shut the curtains and grabbed a glass of water and a couple of small white pills on the way back. “Here,” she grinned, “just so you know I’m not completely heartless.”

He accepted her offerings with a pathetically grateful look. “OK, I take it back, I don’t hate you,” he mumbled as he downed them with a few long swallows.

“That’s very sweet.”

He set the glass down on the bedside table and looked around. “Well, congratulations—I think you’ve found the worst motel on Picon.”

She rolled her eyes. “Oh, please. This isn’t half as bad as that shithole you dragged me to in Lemnos. And,” she added, remembering, “you weren’t supposed to be anywhere near here. Not my fault you failed in your assigned mission for the evening.”

He looked at her oddly, and she flushed, suddenly aware of the potentially awkward interpretations of that particular statement. But apparently they were back to status quo, because he just shrugged, “Maybe next time,” and let his eyes roam idly around the room.

She saw his eyebrows raise as he caught sight of the matchbook lying on the table next to him. “The Dionysian Motel?” he asked incredulously. She shrugged, and he mused, “Wow. Somehow I feel like we didn’t do it justice.”

“I don’t know,” she teased, “I think you drank enough last night to put at least a few satyrs under the table.”

He massaged his forehead with a hand. “Ugh. Don’t remind me.”

“Come on,” she said, shrugging into a sweatshirt. “Up and at ‘em, Cadet—we’ve got to get back to campus and embarrass whoever engineered that new sim course.”

He grimaced. “I need a shower.”

“Trust me, Lee. You don’t want anything to do with that shower.”

“Good point.”

It took the promise of buying him a suitably greasy breakfast to get him out of bed, and she ducked into the bathroom to wet down her tousled hair while he got dressed, which had absolutely nothing to do with her sudden, bizarre reluctance to see him mostly naked. When she came out, he was buttoning up his trousers, the famous white shirt untucked, wrinkled from a night spent crumpled on the chair.

“You’re washing and ironing this for me when we get back,” he informed her, and she snorted.

“Think again, flyboy. My dedication to your post-breakup happiness does not include laundry duty.”

“You’d probably just shrink it anyway,” he sighed, sitting on the bed to pull on his shoes.

“It’d make your arms look bigger,” she pointed out, snickering, and he faked throwing a shoe at her, laughed when she didn’t even flinch.

“Seriously, Kara,” he said as he got to his feet, his blue eyes affectionate, “thanks. I… you were right. I needed this.”

“You’re welcome,” she answered, feeling warm and awkward. Then she smirked. “Can we go back to the part where I was right?’

“I’m driving,” was his only reply as he grabbed her duffel and headed for the door.

“You’re _dreaming_ ,” she shot back, and she was halfway out of the room when she suddenly stopped, rushed back to the nightstand, and shoved the tattered matchbook into her pocket. “Touch my ride and you’ll be flying with ten broken fingers!” she shouted after him, running to catch up, and they raced, laughing, all the way to her truck.


End file.
